Song of Princes (Homeric Chronicles #1) (14 page)

AS APOLLO’S LIGHT
dipped toward the horizon, gold and bronze overtook the expanse of blue. Smokey clouds gathered and floated quietly on the sunset sea. Paris headed for the home of his heart. The stranger’s words still echoing in his ears...
Your true father
. For all the love he received from his parents, the difference between himself and his older brothers pricked him with bitterness. All his life, they taunted him about his black curly hair and his blue sparkling eyes. Their constant taunting had set a wedge between his contentment and himself. He knew he belonged to other parents, that whoever bore him abandoned him. Agelaus would only tell him he stumbled upon him as a bundled child in the foothills of Mount Ida. Agelaus told the same story his entire life without variation. He loved Agelaus well enough and Lexias as well, even if she grew exasperated with his deeds. His parents offered him everything, except what he wanted most:
the truth
. His mind could not let go the bitter question.
Who am I? Why did my parents leave me to die?
He wanted to know his real family. He sensed that Agelaus kept a vital piece of knowledge from him, something that may alter the course of his life.  His father’s tight lipped stubbornness in the matter frustrated Paris.

For the last year of his life, he’d found solace in the forest and the rivers he traveled to herd cattle. The river nymph, Oenone, who roamed the shaded paths and tended the wild flowers of the meadows, understood his desire to know about his real family. Together they had built a home inside a cave hidden behind a waterfall. A cascade of water marked the secret entrance. Paris fashioned simple furniture from trees and water willows. Together, he and Oenone collected from the mountain’s offerings to create their sacred space. Oenone, divinely bound to the river of her birth, collected green and purple river rocks the size of a man’s fist to line the cave like tiles. They planted thick moss on the floor to pad the hard cold dirt of the cave. Mist from the waterfall fed the living carpet. Only here, in this place, could Paris’ restlessness find peace.

Maybe his early days of abandonment in the wild breathed a restless spirit inside his heart. Only in the fields and rivers did he truly feel at ease. Paris knew if he belonged anywhere, it was under the stars. The nymph promised to love him always. She smiled at his return each day. She kissed him sweetly on the forehead, coaxed him to laugh when melancholy threatened to spin him into an abyss of self-pity.

“Did all go well with the bulls?” she asked sweetly.

“Yes. As expected.” Paris ran a blade of wide grass between his fingers, ripping the tip off with a quick snap of his wrist. He tossed the section of grass away in silence. It fluttered dead in the breeze. 

“Perhaps, you are distracted? A walk?” Oenone suggested.

“No. Not today. My heart is heavy. I’m uncertain the cause.”

“Did you not have the best bulls to offer for the festival?”

Paris looked into Oenone’s large sparkling eyes, usually shifting with blues and greens like water now grew dark with concern.

“My father’s stock stood superior.”

“I feel you hide something.”

“It’s nothing.”

She pressed her lips on his. The smooth cool roundness of her mouth tasted of honeysuckle. Her arms encircled his neck pulling him tighter. Her lips parted in a tiny crescent. The tip of her tongue touched his bottom lip. He obliged by opening his mouth. She explored his tongue and teeth with her own. The scent of roses and wild sage filled his head with consuming passion. He burned to cover her flesh with kisses. He pressed his face into her palms, kissing each knuckle even as his lips trembled with not knowing what to do next. Her body lay as a mountain before him, calling him to begin his first exploration. Every trail, every rock, every babbling stream of her essence awaited him.

“Paris―”

He pulled back. “Is it unpleasant?”

Oenone smiled. “No, it is very pleasant. I would speak of the consequence of our mating.”

“Speak plainly, Oenone.”

“We will bring forth a child—who, I see, will complicate your future and bring you great suffering.”

Paris let his hand rest against her check, contemplating her words. His future consisted of raising bulls; his life could use some complications. “Any child we may bring to light will cause me no suffering. Of that I am certain. If he be of our love, I will love him also.”

“If it is a girl?” the nymph asked.

“So be it.”

“One act of love making will bind us forever, my mortal.”

“As in marriage?” Paris asked.

“Yes, as you mortals call it so.”

“Then, we shall belong to one another,” Paris whispered into her ear. “Forever.”

Oenone relented into Paris’ arms, surrendering her divine gift. As he took her, the world around them paused, the wind ceased, butterflies and dragonflies froze suspended in mid-flight over meadow grass, and the River Cebron stilled to silence. Paris looked down into the nymph’s eyes and he felt complete for the first time in his life. It didn’t matter who is father was or why he’d been left for dead. He filled Oenone with his passion for life, with his longing for home, with his hopes for their future. His climax began with a roar and he shuddered from his broad shoulders to his bare feet. The nymph wrapped her legs around his hips and pressed her need against him as she felt him melt inside her. Only then did the world once again burst to life.

Paris had been made bridegroom underneath the expanse of sky he loved second only to her, his newly made wife who lay contented beneath him. He found he could not release her from his embrace. He didn’t care if it was an enchantment or his own primal need to remain inside her; he wanted her beneath him on the cool grass. Forever. Paris gazed into his bride’s eyes. “I will love no other, Oenone.”

Oenone blushed. “It is I who will love no other.” She kissed him, sealing their solemn love vow. “You will betray me,” she whispered, even as Paris kissed her, murmuring that he could never do such a vile to her.

“I have loved you all my life, nymph. I will always honor you,” Paris defended.

She smiled sweetly, knowing the impossibility of his promise. “I have seen it in a dream.”

“Then, let it remain in your dreams, a cloud of thought that comes to nothing.”

“If you wish it so,” Oenone said quietly.

“I do.” Paris placed his warm rough hand on her flat belly, as the heat of his touch rippled through her like a chill. “We will have a fine son.” He rolled onto his side and plucked a stem clustered with pale blue flowers and gave it to Oenone. Then, he kissed her on the cheek, got up from their marital bed of grass and slipped his chiton over his shoulder. “I have sheep and cattle to look after.”

“Promise you will never leave me,” Oenone begged. She needed to hear his true intention, before the gods intervened to take him from her. When, she did not know. But that they would, she knew that with certainty for her visions never failed.

“You need have no worry, Oenone.” He held a hand to lift her. “Come, we both have work to do. You tending your flowers and I the roaming beasts.”

“Will you tell your father about us? What if he does not approve?”

“We wed before the sacred river promising our love with our union. It is not good enough? You have no desire to live in a house of brick and fire. I have no need to ask of anything requiring Agelaus’ consent.”

AS OENONE WALKED
along the edge of the cool river gathering flowers and plants for healing elixirs, she stooped to pull a broad green plant out by the root, and the river slowed.

“Father?” she called out.

“I am here, Oenone,” a voice rumbled deeply.

She ran her hand through the stilled pool. “I have chosen my mate.”

Her father’s voice carried over the babbling water. “He will bring you great sorrow.”

Oenone jerked her hand from the water as if to still the truth. “I have seen it.”

“A war is coming, my daughter. A war that will destroy all you hold dear.”

The nymph sighed. “I am in love, Father.”

“Love changes nothing,” the river god said. “Nothing.”

WATER SHIMMERED DOWN
Thetis’ skin as she emerged from clear dark water. Silver mist veiled her naked form as she lay on the long grass edging the pond she called home. No other nymphs had challenged her for this small isolated paradise she’d created. More importantly, Hera seemed not to notice her when she lingered here. Thetis had no true defense against a jealous goddess. Although a changeling, there was no shape shifting that could keep her safe from an angry Hera.

Low hanging limbs of willow trees brushed the tips of the tall grass in the breeze. Flowering vines snaked up tree trunks and burst in perpetual color. Nymphs had no desire for the luxuries and airy beauty of Olympus. For earth bound deities, the cloud shrouded temples of marble and gold held no fascination. Thetis yearned not for shining glories. Her desires were physical pleasure and lust and love for Zeus. The god was magnificent, standing tall as a tree with silver hair that moved with a life of its own. She envied Hera. Perhaps it was the way the thunder king gazed upon her, touching her bare skin beneath her garments causing her sacred cross quiver with only his eyes. Many times she wondered what it would be like if Zeus actually lay with her in all his glory. Or in what form he would choose to bring her to ecstatic pleasures and godly delights. But the thought of Hera’s retribution kept her fantasies her own. Hera was a jealous goddess and rightly so.

Then, there was Poseidon. He too cast lingering looks in her direction; beautiful monstrous lord of the sea, the dreaded earth shaker.  His undulating waves and knowledge of sacred caves drove many females mad with desire or terror. He caused the earth to tremble and legs to quake. He was the only god, brother of Zeus, to vie for the bloody membrane prize between Thetis’ thighs.

And she desired no war between the brother-gods on her account. The memory of mutiny against Zeus by the Others eons ago terrified her. Thetis alone had fretted over Zeus’ isolation and certain demise by sacrifice. She alone stood by his side while the one-hundred handed beast with fifty heads kept the immortal menace at bay. She shivered with fear remembering the frightening attendance of Briareus. The beast’s hands flailing outstretched in battle, its wicked slimy heads swirling, and each mouth frothing with hunger to devour the god’s divine flesh. Briareus’ cacophony of roars echoed across the sky with more deafening fierceness than a hundred of Zeus’ own thunderous bolts. The Olympians’ rebellion against their own father-brother had faded into distant memory, but was not forgotten by Thetis or the deities forced to slink away in humiliation. The resulting peace lay constantly upon the precipice of a sword’s edge. Zeus’ goodwill and the others acquiescence allowed peace, a peace that could erode into warring factions in the clouds of Olympus if a lover’s battle between brothers erupted over her virginity.
But still…

Thetis’ life bound her to no husband. Her days and her nights belonged to her alone. When Hera busied herself among her worshippers and goddess duties, Zeus visited and wooed her gently, secretly. In truth, she loved Zeus, but feared Hera more. When Zeus attended to Hera, Poseidon paid her amorous visits of his own. The trident wielding god proved himself a skillful admirer and suitor. The competition continued so for many seasons, but she feared her innocent resistance would soon fall to a choice. Which god-brother would bed her first became the only lingering question in her mind. For surely, one or the other would take her, and a water nymph could do little to discourage a god as great as either the Thunder Lord or the Earth-Shaker. Completely at their mercy, she knew one day soon one of the brothers would claim her and she’d likely bear a miraculous child. She trembled fearfully thinking what Hera would do if Zeus became her lover. Hera’s retribution would be deadly.

“MY LORD, IF
you bed the nymph, it is not Hera you need worry about. But the child who will come after,” the centaur, Chiron, whispered into his half-brother’s ear.

“What child?” Zeus countered, suspicious that Chiron had some devious scheme to take Thetis for himself. The wooly horse-man had already taken the nymph, Chariclo, to wife. Perhaps he desired another slippery beauty to satisfy his carnal lust. Zeus knew well the base nature of centaurs’ ecstatic rutting orgies and licentiousness. Their carnivals and sexual rites spread legends among the gods and wood folk alike. Chiron may have been set apart from his kin by his bequeathed intelligence and wisdom, but his heart remained rooted in bestial delights. “Continue, Chiron,” Zeus finally demanded.

“It has been revealed to me through divinely inspired dream sent from Themis herself that Thetis will bear but a single son. And he shall become greater in all things than his father,” Chiron laid it out as plainly as he could.

Zeus grimaced, the words literally wounding him. The thought that any child, male or female, would rise up greater than its father, greater than him, king of the gods, immediately halted the notion that stripping Thetis of her virginity was his celestial right. There would be no more uprisings of sons against fathers in Olympus. The war between the Titans and the Olympians had been enough. Zeus had overthrown his father, Kronos, and he himself would not be surpassed in any measure by a product of his own loins.

“There is more, brother Zeus,” Chiron warned.

Zeus scowled. “You speak less welcomed words than Hermes.”

“Themis has said that Thetis should be given to Peleus the loyal king. They shall have a son who will be a mighty warrior, like Ares, with feet as swift as lightening.”

Zeus considered the portent. Exasperated by denial, he acquiesced, “Go to Phthia, then. Find the king, Peleus. Tell him he shall wed Thetis as a reward for his loyalty.” Zeus ran his fingers through his silver beard. “Yes, let Thetis bear a mortal son and Peleus bear the burden of his son rising in glory above him.”

“As you desire, my lord.” Chiron galloped away.

GOLDEN HERMES FLEW
from Olympus to deliver the news to silver-footed Thetis. He was used to bringing unwanted messages, and if truth be told, took secret delight in doing so.

“I have no wish to marry at all. I refuse to marry just anyone.” Thetis’ firm voice belied the disappointment in her heart that Zeus would reject her so suddenly. She knew he could never truly risk taking her as his lover and she truly had no desire to incur Hera’s wrath, yet in her heart she hoped Zeus would take her regardless of consequence. She wanted to feel his power pressed against her if only for a single coupling. She was a nymph after all, passion triumphing over reason and logic.

Hermes knuckled his hands at his waist. “It is not for you to disagree. You know this.”

“I will talk to him myself,” announced the scorned nymph.

“You are no longer permitted such intimacy.” Hermes pursed his lips, tilting his head to one side, “You are a stubborn little nymph. I would not press your case in this matter.”

Thetis smiled innocently. “What do you mean?”

“Hera forbids your presence and Zeus agrees.” He waited for the explosion of emotion he knew would follow his words.

“She cannot exile me from Olympus!” Thetis seethed from her toes to the top of her head. “Zeus will change his mind. I am certain of it.” She stomped her delicate foot with stubborn conviction.

Hermes could scarcely hide the impish smirk creeping to his golden lips. “It is done, Thetis.” It brought him a small shiver of satisfaction seeing Thetis squirm. His heavy sigh mocked her. “Ah, well, I am off…back to the mount.”

“You insensitive ass!” Thetis shrieked after Hermes swept up into the sky beating his little wings as fast as he could, leaving her without even a glimmer of hope of ever returning to Olympus or an explanation of why Zeus suddenly desired her wed to someone else, and adding insult to injury: to a mortal.

FOR DAYS ON
end, Thetis wept an ocean of bitter tears. Her lamentations floated to Olympus; each sparkling drop pricking like a sharp needle in Zeus’ ears. He could not drown her weeping with wine or food. The tears of a nymph never formed silent rivers and Thetis’ tears threatened to draw Hera’s attention. Maybe it was his genuine affection for Thetis, or her wild beauty begging to be tamed, or her exotic movements promising him undulating pleasure that gave her grief the power to reach him. Soon, Zeus acquiesced to whatever failing one could say a god had and pitied the grief-stricken nymph. One last visit. One last time to inhale her earthy sweetness. One last farewell to a much desired but forever sworn unrequited lover. 

At the edge of her glassy pond, Zeus finally came to Thetis. She lay weeping into her elbow; face down in the mossy grass, watering the blades with salty tears. He’d never beheld such a forlorn and fragile being in all his days. He deemed it unfair that fate should decree such a disastrous plan for the son of this wondrous creature. Fate dictated his burdens of regret and sorrow, and this alone tied him to empathy or pity for lesser beings from time to time.
Mortals think we gods have the better lot, that we in all our undying days have the superior existence. Forever is a curse. I will always know that I wanted her. My desire will not pass from my mind or body in a welcomed death of flesh. Fate forces me to watch as she gives herself to another, a fucking mortal.

“Thetis, my dear,” Zeus entreated sweetly.

Thetis lifted her head slowly, the weight of her grief evident on her marred and swollen face. Her sea green eyes had gone black with sadness. Zeus held out his arms to her. She managed to stand up with an effort. Her head bowed deep with anguish.

“Come,” the god-king murmured.

Thetis could stand apart from him no longer. She practically fell into his embrace releasing her sorrow in a desperate howl. Her lithe frame swallowed in Zeus’ arms as he wrapped them around her.

“Stop, my dear. Stop these incessant tears,” Zeus implored gently.

“I cannot,” whimpered Thetis.

“You must or I shall have no peace,” Zeus entreated.

“Why? Why have you cast me aside?”

Zeus held her tighter. “It is with great pain that I do.”

“Then why? If it pains you, take me here, my lord. In whatever form you desire.” Thetis pressed her softness into his chest.

Zeus steeled the quickening of his desire. He knew it best not to tempt the Fates regarding divine bloodlines. But the nymph was so pliable beneath his touch. He thought of morphing into a warm rain and slowly showering down her arms and legs, running his essence in rivulets down her belly. He thought of enveloping her in her pond, a watery invasion of her being. But the child...he could not forget the child.

“It is impossible for us to merge,” Zeus voiced apologetically.

“But why must I marry a mortal? A mortal? I am shamed by this …this…rejection.” Fresh tears erupted falling in large glistening drops solidifying into crystals tumbling down her cheeks. “You merge with mortal women without a second thought. Am I not good enough for you, my lord?” 

“It is not you, Thetis.” Zeus decided then that the truth might be the only way to release them both from their desires. “Chiron delivered a warning regarding the son you would bear from your first bedding.”

“Chiron! What does he know? Take me here…on the grass,” Thetis teased, placing his hand on her breast.

Zeus cupped the soft roundness of her flesh burning against his palm. “He knows enough, my little nymph.” He pulled his hand reluctantly away.

“Is my son to be grotesque? An abomination?” she choked back more tears.

“It is because your son will become mightier than his father.”

Thetis’ tears ceased. She knew he would never allow a son to rival his place in Olympia. And she knew now why her lover could never make love to her for all eternity, and why he was casting her to a mortal man. The order of the universe depended on her birthing a child who would eclipse a man, not a god.

“You see, gentle Thetis, it is quite impossible for me to have a son who is destined to be greater than I am. You remember, as do I, how mutiny almost cost my immortality. It is not safe for you to lay with any immortal. There will be no more uprising in Olympus.”

“That would be awful.” Thetis recalled the hideous beast who defended her would be lover. She could still hear its deafening roar and how she’d tried to drown out the terrible noise with her hands. But nothing could keep the shrieking from piercing her ears. “You are right. It must not be allowed.”